Forever is Never
by saxanet12
Summary: Hold fast to dreams, For if dreams die, Life is a broken-winged bird, That cannot fly. -Langston Hughes


**Forever is Never**

**Disclaimer: My dream of owning "Maximum Ride" has not yet been achieved. It still belongs to the great James Patterson.**

**It's alternate universe. They don't have wings. They're also slightly OOC, but I like them this way.**

**I would like to dedicate this to all of the children who continue to reach for the stars despite the invisible hands pulling them down. You know who you are, and you will never fail to inspire me and teach me with wisdom beyond your years.**

Hold fast to dreams  
for if dreams die  
Life is a broken-winged bird  
that cannot fly.

-Langston Hughes

The night you were born, you could see millions of stars in the sky. Each one called to you, and you reached your hands up to try to grab them. Even then, you spent a lot of time looking at the sky.

_When we were five years old, you really wanted to fly._

"I want to be free, like the birdies!" you called at me, smiling as you climbed the tall oak tree in your backyard. "I'm going to touch the stars!"

I just stood on the ground and told you no, kids can't fly. You didn't listen to me; you were stubborn, even back then.

I wrung my hands worriedly as you leaped into the air from the highest branch on that old oak tree, flailing your arms like Tarzan. You seemed to be suspended in the air for a millisecond, but then gravity took over, yanking you back to Earth.

I ran to get your mom while you lay on the grass, screaming.

You broke your arm that day, trying to grab at your dream.

_When we were ten years old, your mom died of cancer._

I didn't understand. You didn't cry when you broke your arm falling out of a tree, but you cried by your mom's bedside for three hours that night, telling me you never got to say goodbye.

After that, every penny you ever received went towards the Alyse Ride Foundation for Cancer Research, a charity you hoped you would start someday, but weren't able to. You were never afraid to fight for dreams outside of this galaxy.

The one thing I knew was that the old boy with the lopsided smiles and the crazy ideas was erased clean. Yet I grew to love the dark brooding boy who spent long hours staring at the sky, contemplating and wishing.

You wished on the North Star every night, praying that things would be all right.

_When we were twelve, you told me you loved me._

"I love you, Max," you told me one August as we were sipping lemonade.

"Love isn't real, Fang" I spat back, waiting for the punch line of this joke.

"Yes it is," you replied calmly. "It's important to tell people how much you love them, cause it might be the last time you ever get to tell them that." Your eyes grew distant, and I thought you were thinking about your mom."Max, you're the most important thing in my life and I don't know where I'd be without you."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, "Do you want to go to the movies or not?" You told me you loved me every day, and every day I brushed it off like lint on my jacket.

_When we were fifteen, I found out you wouldn't live to be sixteen._

You had collapsed one day after we walked home from school, and I called the ambulance to take you to the hospital. I didn't know that you would never come home again.

They said you had cystic fibrosis; that you had known your entire life how many years you would miss out on.

I yelled the first day, screaming at you for not ever telling me, letting me believe that I was going to have you forever. I beat your chest with my hands, letting you hug me with your slowly chilling arms until I finally fell asleep.

I wish I had never woken up, because my dream was beautiful. We held hands, walking with each other across the clouds, and we jumped and I thought we would fall, but then our wings opened, mine tan and yours ebony, and we swept across the sky. You reached up, and your fingers grazed the stars, until you grabbed one in your hand, held on tight, brought your hand down to my face, and opened your fingers. The star in your hand glowed, and I smiled, telling you I loved you forever.

I stayed with you every day for the next two weeks, talking to you, listening to your slowly disappearing voice. "I thought I'd have you forever," I told you.

"Forever is never, Max," you replied. "Nothing lasts forever,"

I stayed with you as you lost your hope, vomiting it out just like the mucus from your lungs. I held your bedpan, brushed your ebony black hair away from your eyes, and caught every single one of your dreams. You cried, telling me that you wished you had just a day more, a week more, a year more, a lifetime more…

"I never achieved a single one of my dreams." you told me, looking at the floor gloomily. But then your eyes drifted up to my face and you managed a tiny smile, one of your trademark half-smiles that always made my heart stop beating, "Except one,"

And you kissed me; you kissed me with those cold blue lips that finally chilled the fire in my heart. It was hard; it was soft. It was sweet; it was salty. It was innocent; it was passionate. It was long; it was far too short.

I smiled, "And what's that?"

"You," Your half smile was a full smile now, and it filled your entire face, even your eyes, which sparkled like stars for the first time in a long time and the last time in, well, ever. "Max, you take my breath away. _Literally_."

"Sorry," I grinned at you, gently nudging your shoulder with mine, "I guess I'm the death of you,"

I told you to scoot over, and you obeyed. I sat down on the bed with you, and we fell asleep together (no, not in _that_ way).

I woke up two hours later, but you never did.

_When I was sixteen, I read this speech to you by your gravestone._

You dad was sad. Your sister was sad. Your aunts and uncles and grandparents were sad.

I wasn't sad; I was broken.

I would only wear your shirts, sitting on your bed under the covers, listening to your favorite band play slow songs as I leafed through photo albums filled with pictures of you.

Those last couple of days, you told me not to be scared of losing you. I told you I wasn't scared of losing you; I was scared of forgetting you, scared that I would move on and forget to remember.

And I did forget you, in a way. I moved on with my life because there was no other option. Your dad washed your shirts, and they didn't smell like you anymore. Your bedspread grew worn and tattered, the photos grew old and faded, and the CDs scratched, never playing more than a few seconds at a time.

And that's how I remembered you: a few tight connections, but most slowly unraveling; a few clear recollections as everything else slowly faded, and small, fleeting memories in between long moments of forgotten silence.

But every night, I climb to the top of that tall oak tree in your yard and sit on the edge of the top branch. I reach my hands up to the sky, trying to grab my dreams. And sometimes, sometimes, I can feel my fingertips brush the surface of the sky, and I know that you're there, stretching your arms down, grazing my fingertips.

And I know I've reached my dreams.

**Hello, wonderful people! We have reached the end of this story, so, as you expected, I will now be asking you to review, favorite, and follow.**

**Song selection is "Dream On" by Aerosmith.**


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